Finals Stress
by anotherjournalentry
Summary: After Shane’s tour ends, Mitchie still has a few weeks of school left so he comes to stay with her family. What happens when school and catty teenage girls become too much? Smitchie. Oneshot.


**Title:** Finals Stress  
**Disclaimer:** Well, I obviously don't own _Camp Rock_. Because if I did, I'd be super rich, because it was the second highest rated Disney Channel movie ever, and I'm basically broke. So, yeah. Don't own it.  
**Summary: **After Shane's tour ends, Mitchie still has a few weeks of school left so he comes to stay with her family. What happens when school and catty teenage girls become too much? Smitchie. Oneshot.

Whatever had happened on her last day of classes before spring finals in her junior year was obviously too big for him to easily fix. Shane had been staying at the Torres' since his tour ended in early May. Mitchie went to school and her parents to work, so he had the house to himself during the days. He mostly just watched TV or played her guitar, but he loved to look through baby pictures and pictures of her growing up. He'd been addicted since her mom had first shown them to him two days after he'd arrived.

As usual, Mitchie walked through the door at exactly 3:23 – he counted every minute of the day she was gone, although he'd never admit to that. Today, though, she didn't greet him with a hug. She didn't even acknowledge him with a smile. She just stalked right past him on her way to her room. He was too shocked to do anything until he heard her door slam. He bolted up the stairs, toward her bedroom.

"Whoa, Mitch. What's up?" he said before he'd even entered the room. Once he saw her, he quickly closed the distance between the door and her bed. She was laying face down and he could hear her crying quietly. He sat down on the edge of her bed and stroked her hair. "Mitchie, what's wrong?"

She sat up and looked at him for a few moments, clearly searching for something in his expression. All she found was concern. "Shane, why are you here?"

"What?"

"Why are you here? Why are you with _me_?"

"Mitchie, I –"

She cut him off. "Just ask any of the guys, or girls for that matter, that I've ever gone to school with. They'll tell you. They'll tell you straight up that you should be asking yourself, 'Why am I with her? Why did I choose her when I could have any girl I wanted? Someone so much prettier, more talented than her?" Mitchie yelled in frustration. Halfway through her little speech, she'd gotten up off the bed and began to pace around the room.

Shane just sat there, letting her finish what she had to say. "No. That's what _you're_ thinking I should think. What I'm thinking is, 'How did I get so lucky to deserve her?" He stood up and took two steps toward her. She fell into his embrace, crying yet again. "Shh, baby. It's okay. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere." He kissed the top of her head lightly.

About ten minutes later, she calmed down and stopped crying. "I'm sorry Shane. I'm so, so sorry," she said as she tried to fix her makeup, still standing with his arms around her. "It's just, these three girls at school have been saying all year that you don't really love me and you don't want me and they can't figure out why you're with me. I guess I'm too stressed or something because that's all I could think about all day. I couldn't get it out of my head and then I started believing it." She let her head fall back to his chest, her arms snaking around his waist.

"Mitchie, you know none of that is true. Don't listen to them. They don't know anything, especially about how I feel. I love you, Mitch. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

**AN:** All right, so I think that's where I'm gonna leave it. For now, at least. If inspiration hits, there may be a sequel. I'm actually supposed to be writing an essay in English, he's giving us class time today, but for some reason I can't write it without _my_ inspirational music. His is Bach and people like that. Mine is Taylor Swift, Jonas Brothers, and Almost Amy. So I'll just have to wait until home to write it. Oh, well. More time for "nothing." :)


End file.
